


Good Lover/Bad Lover

by Green_Sphynx



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Fluff, M/M, Polyamory, Safe Sane and Consensual, Spanking, Strapping, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 20:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10143935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/pseuds/Green_Sphynx
Summary: “You just don't know when to stop,” Hawke growled against his skin, and Anders could feel hot breath and a brush of teeth, the threat of biting down like Hawke planned to tear out his very flesh with his teeth. “You need to learn to bow to your superiors like the filthy whore you are.”





	

Anders knew what he was in for even before they got home.

The nobles had been particularly annoying today. Endless bickering that needed Hawke’s attention - yes they really needed Hawke to give his opinion on this it was absolutely necessary! There was no respite, not even when Fenris made some serious attempts at glaring the nobles down. It usually worked, they had all seen what the elf was capable of that fated day in the Viscount's Keep. The Arishok tested Hawke against his elite fighters and everyone was there to witness Fenris ripping a qunari's heart right out of his chest. They had also witnessed Anders making another of the qunari swallow a fireball but they always pretended they had never seen Anders or his magic. Which was appreciated.

Fenris, on the other hand, had been propositioned and proposed to a dozen times before he lost his patience, and since then people were very wary of his glare.

Anger the elf, be in trouble. Nobody questioned.

So when Hawke tensed and his friendliness grew a sharp edge, Fenris stepped in with a warning look. Fenris was the bodyguard, the boogeyman. Hawke and Anders did not like Fenris taking that role up as if he was meant for it - just because Danarius said so didn't mean it was true! - but the elf did what he liked now. And he liked using his power to protect his lovers from themselves when they tried to give too much.

A painfully common occurrence.

But even the threat of the lyrium ghost didn't do the trick this time. And Hawke grew visibly weary and Anders knew what he would need tonight. He knew what his lover would desperately need.

So Anders was prepared.

Before they reached door Hawke had already taken hold of Anders' hand. Their fingers entwined while Hawke fumbled with the keys for the door, and Anders gave an encouraging little squeeze.

They left Fenris behind them when they entered. Hawke drew Anders with him to the wall of the hallway, leaving Fenris to close the door behind them. A large calloused hand came up to cup Anders' face gently, a thumb caressing his cheek softly, sweetly. Their lips brushed together so gently, it was almost impossible to imagine this man was the same as the one who he'd be later. Just a little later, just until he ensured Anders was willing. He never started without asking no matter how hard he needed it.

“Please,” he muttered against Anders' lips, his begging a mere whisper of a breath. “Can I, tonight? Would you be able to take it? Will you let me?”

Anders smiled, cupping Hawke’s face between both hands. He leaned in to kiss his lips, nuzzle against his beard, up the scruff to his cheekbone.

“Yes. Take me, Love. I'm yours to use tonight, however you like.”

“Safeword?”

“Tabby.”

And with that, Hawke’s free hand came up, fingers digging into blond hair, hooking into his ponytail. A sharp tug, painful, and he gasped while he arched back to ease the strain, his hands letting go of his lover's face.

“Last chance out.”

“Don't be an arselicker, Hawke,” he challenged, and that sealed his fate for the night.

Hawke growled, giving a sharp tug to Anders' hair, making him cry out in pain and struggle, arching back painfully.

“You have some guts, for a filthy apostate I found in the sewers beneath this very estate.”

Anders writhed, fingers clawing at Hawke’s hand, trying to move but unable to keep his balance if he shifted too far. He needed to get up before he'd fall, but his lover's grip was unrelenting.

“Better the sewers down there than the sewers up here,” he gritted between his teeth,” Darktown doesn't stink of corruption as much.”

Suddenly Anders was pulled upright. With only the hand in his hair he was made to turn and Hawke roughly marched him forward. Anders scrambled to follow the warrior's fast steps, thrown off by Hawke spitefully shaking him from this side to that. He stumbled on the stairs but Hawke knew no mercy when he was like this. One hand gripped his upper arm and with the other still in his hair he was dragged up the stairs, across the hall and down to Hawke’s bedroom. Anders could not find his footing again and flopped ungracefully to the floor when he was finally discarded. Hawke’s boot scraped his arm as he stomped by, and Anders knew he was off to get a stretch of rope.

This was going to be his last struggle, his last masochistic push to flare his lover's anger.

“You're no better than any of these nobles,” Anders spat, slowly raising himself onto his knees. “You are everything you despise and you bask in it like a fat lizard thinking himself king of the rock.”

“Shut up!”

Hawke was back on him in a flash, grabbing him once more by the hair. He was dragged up on his feet and slammed against the closet face first. Hawke’s breath was hot on his neck while a strong hand dragged his face against the wood, and Anders cursed the intricate woodcutting he had loved so much when he first saw it.

“You just don't know when to stop,” Hawke growled against his skin, and Anders could feel hot breath and a brush of teeth, the threat of biting down like Hawke planned to tear out his very flesh with his teeth. “You need to learn to bow to your superiors like the filthy whore you are.”

Anders gritted his teeth, but resisted from taunting any more. Fenris stepping in would undo all the good this did for Hawke and make it all go down the drain into worse. Hawke was worked up just right. He didn't want this to become dangerous, or force Fenris to step in. So he remained silent while Hawke moved open mouth and hungry teeth over skin marbled with old hickeys, most of them placed by himself. He remained silent when Hawke suddenly pulled away and didn't do more than make a token sound of surprised protest when his coat was practically ripped off of him and his arms were roughly yanked over his head, making his shoulders ache at the sudden turn. A rope was deftly wrapped around his wrists and tied in a strong knot that looped over a hook on top of the closet. With a sharp yank on the rope Anders' arms were hefted up and he stretched, groaning. Stuck.

He shivered uncomfortably, forcing his breathing to calm.

_Don't panic._  Don't panic.

Hawke left him alone for a moment, and Anders took those last few seconds to catalogue his current state.

Bruised legs and hip from being dragged up the stairs, his arm aching somewhat terrible, his shoulder feeling almost dislocated – but it wasn’t. If barely. Hawke hadn’t been gentle getting him here.

Nor was he currently being gentle with his clothes, practically ripping them off his frame. He could hear the violent movements behind him, the tearing of a seam, all sounds of danger and anger that made Anders’ knees buckle and his breathing speed up in fear.

Fear and heat making him feel lightheaded with desire and anticipation. Fear and terror and he was so aroused it almost hurt.

Just on the inside. When Hawke came to rip his boots off his feet, followed by his breeches, there was no arousal visible. He was not hard under the rough calloused hand that groped him harshly as if to check if Anders was not out of line.

He wasn’t out of line, but Hawke made a sound of disgust anyway. The cold steel of a dagger slid over Anders’ back, making him cry out in fear and writhe, trying to press into the closet and away from the blade, but all Hawke cut was the threadbare shirt from his back. He repeated with a few angry swipes that should’ve nicked skin by all means, letting the shirt fall down in tatters.

Anders’ back remained unharmed.

For now.

He was honestly trembling now, head tilted back, wide eyed gaze towards the ceiling. He was __afraid__. He knew Hawke would not harm him, not too much… but the thrill was there. Hawke was angry and violent and about to hurt him, but he would never be a Templar. He would hurt him but never harm him. Anders was terrified and he __loved Hawke so much__.

“You’re disgusting,” Hawke muttered, the cold steel once again sliding across his skin. Anders twisted away in a flash of panic, the dagger always scaring him the most. He hated being cut, he __feared__  being cut, and Hawke wouldn’t. No matter how worked up, Hawke wouldn’t cut him.

But that didn’t keep him from threatening to do it and Anders always feared, always panicked. Always and every time, because he __always__  took his lover seriously. Especially when he was angry.

He released a breath of relief when the knife clattered to the floor and two large hand grabbed his buttocks, squeezing them too hard and pulling them apart too far. He struggled slightly, groaning in discomfort, but Hawke was not impressed.

“You struggle like a bitch in heat, just as wanton. You know your place, you just like being difficult. You just like trouble.” One thumb was pushed into his arse dry and Anders made a pained sound of protest. “You just like punishment.”

“And you’re just a blighted sadist who likes dishing it out where it was not deserved,” Anders snapped back before he could stop himself. He cried out when the thumb was shoved in completely in retaliation, the stretch dry and burning. He squirmed against the closet, pulling on his binds and trying to wriggle away, but Hawke could probably lift him impaled on that thumb. The strength of his lover was one of many things that were frightening about him, as well as one of the many things he’d used to make Anders swoon and seduce him with. Right now, the reminder was present and throbbing in his arse.

“But it _is_  deserved,” Hawke growled, twisting his thumb cruelly, like he would twist his sword in the chest of a slaver. “You’re a lying bastard. You’re a snake. You’re a no-good runner who’ll always abandon his friends to save his own hide. You deserve all the punishment and more.”

Anders panted, unable to keep down one sob escaping him at the words.

_He always took Hawke seriously_.

He was slowly slipping, losing his grip on the situation. He was no longer in control. Hawke was.

He believed Hawke now, and he would as long as this scene lasted. He surrendered to it with a whimper of relief.

“See? Coward.”

The thumb was ripped out of him and Anders squeaked, bucking up against the closet. He was released completely, but only for a moment.

No, he was released. The next touch was in no way restricting, and it was all the worse.

He cried out in surprise – although he should’ve known – when the sharp sting of Hawke’s belt landing on his bottom made him buck once more. His voice barely overpowered the sound of the blow, sharp and sudden like the pain.

Cruel pain that he knew would grow worse very fast.

“Coward.” Hawke bit out again, and the belt landed again, making Anders clench his arse and gasp in pain. He wasn’t surprised by the second, nor by the third. All he knew was that it burned with each time the belt came down, aiming for his buttocks and right below. He wasn’t sure if he felt lucky for Hawke picking his belt rather than a whip this time.

A whip he could deal with easily. Hawke never whipped him as hard as the Templars did, never drew blood either. But the belt.

The belt went on until he felt like his skin was on fire and everything was bruised, and he wouldn’t be sitting for days.

He gasped and cried out at each blow, the short succession of them overwhelming. He squirmed, writhing in an attempt to get away from the beating, but the belt followed him wherever he went. There was no escape from Hawke’s wrath.

A pause took him by surprise.

The stinging slaps were still ringing in his ears, reverberating in his arse. It burned and ached and he found himself panting, snivelling and weeping quietly. Already.

His cheeks burned with his humiliation and his tears, but it was nothing compared to his arse.

“Filthy whore. You think I’ll have mercy on you if you just cry? What are you, an infant crying for his mommy because he got slapped by the girl next door? You’re pathetic, you are.”

Anders sobbed openly at the insults, squirming harder and pulling on his bonds.

_Pathetic._ Hawke was right. He was like a child, pretending to be all grown up.

“Playing your games of freedom while you can’t even take care of yourself. You can’t take care of anything. If it weren’t for us you wouldn’t be able to wipe your own arse. What’s next, pissing yourself and embarrassing me in front of all the nobles?” The belt landed, _hard_ , and Anders screeched while he pressed up against the woodwork, his chest and belly raw from the carving by now. Nothing compared to his arse, nothing compared to what was to come.

“You’re the most pathetic excuse for a man. I should just put you in a little dress like a baby and spank you over my knee. Then you wouldn’t embarrass me, at least.”

Something distant in Anders’ mind pointed out Hawke’s fixation on embarrassment tonight. Hawke must’ve been embarrassed with the nobles, although it wasn’t Anders’ doing. That wasn’t what this was about, not about Anders.

Only right now, it was. Right now, Anders sobbed and begged.

“I’m sorry! I’ll be good, I wo-won’t emb-barrass you again! ‘m sorry, I’m sorry!”

The belt landed again regardless, and that was the start of the next barrage. No reprieve, each blow hurting worse than the last. All Anders could do was turn and struggle and squirm while crying out at each blow, the belt painting his arse first in red and then slowly, bit by bit, in splotches of purple. It was agony at that point and he begged through heavy sobs, face wet and skin tight from tears and pain.

“You deserve this,” Hawke hissed, only relenting in his pace for precious seconds, allowing Anders to sob until he could slowly lower himself on his heels again from where he had been perched up on his toes against the closet. As far away from the belt as he could, which was not very far at all. “You deserve every single hit I land on your pathetic excuse for an arse. It’s not like you need to sit when you’re busy running.”

The belt came down again and Anders screeched, no longer surprise, this time agony.

_Too much, too much._

And with that, it stopped.

Hawke huffed angrily and the sound of the belt hitting the floor when it was angrily tossed aside followed shortly.

“I’m done with you. I’m wasting my time.”

All Anders could do was keep crying. Keep crying in pain and humiliation and shame. He was sorry “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry please, please I’m sorry-”

“Shh, it’s alright. It’s over.”

Anders didn’t dare relax just yet, even if it was Fenris’ soothing voice in his ear. He failed to hear Hawke angrily stomping off, nor had he caught Fenris entering. But the dangerous warrior who posed as a weapon and a prickly bodyguard on a daily base was now behind him, skin warm against his own where he gently pressed to his back.

Hands came up where nimble fingers could tug on a loop in the knot holding Anders’ wrists, perfectly in reach for the shorter elf. The knot released easily, designed to do so, perfect and thought through as if Hawke hadn’t been furious while tying it.

Hawke had been in control throughout his fury, and it was the reason Anders would never stop trusting him.

“You've done well, Love.” It was a low mutter rumbling against his ear, a soothing voice he loved to hear. It meant relief, a soothing balm for his nerves that promised gentle hands to spread a more real balm on his skin later. Calloused hands of a warrior that were just a little too rough in places, but the loving attention and care always easily made up for that.

Anders was still breathing heavily, eyes shifting to find the closest escape route instinctively. He was still full of adrenaline and pain and panic, even while he sunk back in his lover's arms, shaking like a leaf.

Soft kisses were pressed to a sweaty temple, reassuring murmurs and praises repeated quietly until they registered.

It was over now. Fenris had him. He was done.

The tension left his body without warning and he slumped, supported by strong arms that had anticipated this. He was hefted up on shaking legs so Fenris could maneuver him sideways, allowing the smaller elf to pick up his tall lover. Like a blushing bride - he would joke if it weren't for the scene they played. An utterly deadpan voice of dry humour, reserved only for them and their friends. A side of Fenris they cherished, a side he would not show an outsider.

But Anders cherished this side even more, the side where Fenris didn't make such a joke out of care for Anders' state. A gentle side where his loving was as intense as his fighting was against slavers.

With well-practiced twisting and turning Fenris lay Anders down on his stomach on the bed. A pillow was fluffed up and tucked under Anders' head and the sheets were pulled up over his legs, leaving his abused buttocks bare. Gentle kisses were placed on his shoulder blades and Anders sobbed again, helplessly, when the touch of his lover disappeared.

Not like it would take long. Fenris never took long, always prepared well enough for it to be a matter of seconds before his touch returned with cool soothing cream on Anders' burning skin. But Anders cried regardless, afraid Fenris would leave, afraid he'd be left alone with his pain.

“I'm here, Love. Do not fret.”

Kisses on his shoulder blades again while the cooling cream was gently spread over sore skin. Often Fenris would be treating the entirety of Anders' back, but not now Hawke had used the belt. The belt was only used on his buttocks, all the pin concentrated in one place. But it allowed Fenris to kiss his back, so Anders was glad.

He sniffled, sobs dying down to an occasional hiccup and tears making the skin over his cheeks feel too tight. Fenris joined him on the bed and carefully drew him into an embrace, his arms restricting to keep Anders from moving in a foolish way.

Anders wanted to move foolishly, he wanted to roll over and hide his face in Fenris' chest, let his strong arms be his shelter. Instead he just squirmed as close as he could, turning only his head to snuggle against dusky skin with bright lyrium lines, trying not to get his tears and snot on his lover.

Fenris was less bothered by the state of Anders' face and simply hugged him close, pressing Anders' face to his chest with one warm, loving hand.

And they remained that way until Anders calmed. Slowly. Patiently. Until Anders' breathing was even and his tears had stopped, red rimmed eyes drooping with fatigue.

"I must go check on Hawke," Fenris muttered into Anders' hair. "I shall bring you water to drink when I return. Will you be alright until then?"

Anders nodded against Fenris' chest, only glancing up as his lover's face when he carefully drew away. He gave Fenris large begging eyes, not quite trusting himself to speak yet.

Luckily Fenris understood him all too well. He could read him like a book in this state, see his needs sometimes before Anders even knew it himself.

“And some of the sweet bread Orana made, perhaps. She took it fresh from the oven when we came home, it may still be a little warm.”

A small smile twitched on Anders' lips and he leaned in to offer his lips, puckered slightly for Fenris to press a loving kiss to them. He was given a gentle pat on the head and then the elf was gone, leaving Anders by himself to wait for both his lovers to return.

It wouldn't take long and Anders was no longer desperate, no longer on the verge of panic. He settled with a sigh, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to doze for a few minutes. Not that the throbbing that was building beneath the burning of his arse was any help.

He wiggled a little in discomfort until he reached down for the sheets, drawing them over himself.

Fenris tended to leave him bare for recovering, which he appreciated up to a certain point. He always made sure to be covered before Hawke returned though. After Fenris helped Anders calm Hawke was the most vulnerable one.

Hawke was the one prone to panic after his anger had cooled and he saw the damage he had done. It took hours of Anders and Fenris talking him down from that panic again, repeating over and over how he had not harmed Anders more than he had wanted. How he had not gone too far, how Anders had not called his safeword for a reason.

It was best to make sure Hawke did not get to see Anders’ back until the morning after, preferably even later. It made the evening a whole lot more relaxing for all of them.

Anders closed his eyes and succeeded at dozing just slightly, feeling less exposed and more comfortable now that he could no longer trigger such a reaction in Hawke when they returned. The ache made him feel oddly safe in this large bed, all by himself. He was intimately aware of it being Hawke’s work, not a Templar’s. At this point, he had trouble remembering the pain the Templars inflicted on him, all those memories slowly overwritten by play with Hawke. One by one bitter memories lost their flavour of fear and got replaced with Hawke relieving his frustration while always remaining in control of himself. The sharp sting of being left alone on the cold floor after a beating replaced by the fuzzy sweetness of Fenris’ voice muttering soothing sweet nothings into his ear, the warmth of the strong embrace of his lovers, the softness of the bed and the air and the breath in his hair.

He smiled, content until he heard the click of the door opening again.

Fenris rejoined him first, slipping under the sheets and drawing Anders back against his chest to let him nuzzle there. Anders carefully turned his upper body so he could wriggle an arm under Fenris’ waist, wrapping his arms around his elf as he felt knees push against the side of his thigh, not curling around him further where they may hurt his still burning backside. He felt Fenris stretch and reach and then return, and a glass of water was carefully nudged against his lips. Anders made a noise of protest at having to sit up but with a bit more squirming he managed to sip from the glass, drinking carefully until Fenris allowed him to stop.

Hawke paced the room nervously a few times while they settled back down before he dared to join them, a ritual of self-chastisement Anders and Fenris were both more than used to. Anders had no idea what Hawke did while Fenris was here with him and neither of his lovers had ever shared this information with him, but Anders feared the worst. He feared to ask what Fenris had to do to calm Hawke down when he went after him.

He feared but didn’t ask, simply reaching behind him when Hawke finally dared to slide between the sheets as well, grabbing a strong wrist and tugging it insistently until Hawke carefully spooned him. His lover’s bodyheat wasn’t pleasant against his arse, but Anders felt calmer knowing Hawke was close. He felt calmer knowing Fenris reached further around Anders to pull Hawke into their hug and he only fully relaxed again at the sigh into his hair and the tension leaving Hawke’s body.

“Are you alright Love?”

“Pretty sure I should be asking you that.” Hawke always gave the same answer, and there was always the soft slap of Fenris’ hand against a muscled shoulder in retribution until Hawke would answer Anders’ question properly.

“I’m better now,” Hawke finally muttered, and Anders felt him nuzzle into his hair properly. “I didn’t hurt you too much?”

“Not at all,” Anders hummed, turning his head as far as he could until he could just brush the corner of his lips to Hawke’s cheekbone. “Thank you, Hawke. It was perfect.”

Hawke made a noncommital sounds and buried his face deeper into blond hair.

“I love you, Hawke.”

Anders could _feel_  Hawke relax, and everything was alright again. The game was over and any damage prevented.

“Love you too. Both of you.”

Fenris’ arms tightened just a little around them, proudly squeezing his lovers before his voice rolled on a quiet chuckle.

“Perhaps give us some of that bread you took upstairs, Hawke; and I may return the sentiment.”

Anders whined hungrily, squirming to face Hawke now. “I was promised food!”

“You’re both terrible,” Hawke laughed sheepishly, extracting himself from the hug to find where he put down the bread. “You just love me for the food, I swear.”

“Hmm, the food and the way you can lift me in the air while fucking me, to be more precise.”

Hawke’s scandalised sound of protest was easily ignored when Fenris rewarded Anders with the most pleased smirk for his comment. They leaned close and kissed sweetly, and Anders could not imagine being in any place better than this bed with these two men.


End file.
